


For the First Time

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fade to Black, First Time, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, Mentions of War, Past Child Abuse, but since I'm paranoid it is what it is, this could fall under a teen rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: Three different confessions, three different times.
Relationships: Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	1. 1830s

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt merger from angejolras: "Love confession and first time."
> 
> These are all written towards three different WIPs, and given those are still very much in the "first draft" stage or parts of them are, these are a bit on the rougher side and in some cases, rather sparse. I'm not including which ones they're from given they could appear completely revamped in the final works, but the titles will at least contain a time period their respected WIPs are tied to.
> 
> And in case it was missed in the tags, not sure if this qualifies as NSFW since there's not any smut involved here (I'm still uncomfortable writing it). Some of these scenes will probably be the closest I'll get to writing anything of the sort.
> 
> Also, had Lifehouse's "First Time" stuck in my head for a lot of this, hence the title. (And unintentionally done by the author, the phrase appears at least once in each chapter.)

Her mind hits pause on those three little words. His lips continue to move after that, but Eponine no longer hears what he’s saying.

 _Say something back!_ her mind screams at her.

His lips go still, and it’s now she notices the fear in his eyes; he’s opened himself up to her, put himself in a vulnerable position, and she could easily shatter him in fewer than those three words.

But she can’t, not when her feelings toward him are the same.

And her own words fail her. So she responds in the only plausible way she can think of.

Her lips meet his, and she’s soaring.

Enjolras gives in for a few moments, then his body goes rigid and he pulls away. “Are you sure? I would not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“If I didn’t want any of this, I would have said so.” She searches his eyes for any uncertainty on his part, and the only thing she picks out in his hesitance is the lack of experience, that tied to the processing of the thought she feels the same. “You’re not taking back what you said, are you?”

“I meant what I said; I have no reason or intention to change it.” He takes her hands in his, his thumb brushing over the silver band on her left hand he’d given her a few months earlier. “I do not want you to feel obligated to return such affections.”

“I return your feelings and have no objections, if you’ll have me.”

He nods, a small smile on his face as he leans in to kiss her. She returns it, and she shifts her body on the couch to bring her closer to him. His hands rest on her hips, while her hands start working on the removal of his cravat.

She separates her lips from his to murmur, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but if you have any questions or you feel uncomfortable in any way, tell me and I’ll stop.”

“Alright,” he replies, breathless.

He loves her, and the shock of it hits her like an oncoming train after they’ve finished for the night.

And she loves him, too; she won’t dispute that. Her heart belongs to him as much as his belongs to hers. The fact of it all, she who spent her childhood and much of her adulthood feeling unloved and abandoned, she who behaved as she did from her teens to July for the sake of replacing that absence, to feel loved and wanted, it’s foreign but all-the-same welcomed.

She catches a smile of content on his sleeping face in the glow of the candlelight, his arm draped over the small of her back. It brings on a smile of her own, seeing how peaceful he looks, as she reaches to brush his cheek.

She’s whole; for the first time in her life, everything’s in place.


	2. 1910s

“Enjolras, are you all right?” Eponine sits down on the arm of the chair, ruby eyes glowing softly in the firelight. Affection and concern weave through her features, as it has so much within the past five years, if not longer. Her fingers brush his chin, bringing his eyes to meet his.

His words catch in his throat.

“You aren’t feeling feverish, are you?” she asks, her hand trailing up to touch his forehead. “You don’t seem to be…”

“I’m fine, I believe,” he manages, focusing on her. “It’s just…I’ve been thinking. Nothing you need to fret over.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, then her right hand takes hold of his left, her eyes tracing over his burn scars there. “Would you care to talk about it?”

He would, but he has no words, and he hopes the expression on his face tells her as much.

Her eyes meet his, and it steals away once again his breath. For the first time in his life, he throws away logic and lets his instincts overcome him.

For a moment, the war never happened; they were untouched, unbroken. No scars from bullets or burns, no nightmares preventing their sleep…More importantly, she’s safe, not a pawn being used to control him.

His lips capture hers, and she meets his with equal fervor. She shifts herself into his lap, her hands trailing to his hair, the back of his neck, in an effort to keep him close.

Oh, let him have this!

They break for air, and he sees the burning colors in her eyes against the glow from the fireplace; spending too long to ponder it brings a questioning glance that dulls the embers. He brings his lips to her once more.

There’s no turning back for them. Taking advantage of this chance, to perhaps be happy in what they thought would be a life of misery, after all they’ve been through, was something they never thought they’d have. For him, to let his heart rule over the barriers his mind and logic placed, the opportunity of a life worth living floods into his sights.

And so his hands explore her shoulders, her back, her hips, while hers wander and trace lines along his chin, his neck, his chest. The warmth of her body against his, even with clothes still containing each other’s decency, becomes something he no longer wants to lose.

He gets up from their spot on the carpet, and pulls a quilt off the sofa, their clothing strewn across the floor by the chair. He covers them both as he lays back down beside her, then holds her against him.

“I love you too,” she murmurs.


	3. 2000s

“I don’t want to waste any more time, not when we could have so little of it left,” Eponine says, her hands holding his tightly, as if her life depended on it; with the threats of her past coming forth, it almost could be. “I don’t know what could happen tomorrow, or in the next few days, but I don’t want to die knowing I didn’t at least try to give us a chance, again.”

“Thenardier—”

She shakes her head. “I finished playing the game of denial two years ago; you should remember that well.”

The pained expression shows in his eyes, a moment of regret. The bitterness that ran through him in the stretch of months after while she tried moving on; she could sense him trying to be happy for her, all while he pushed himself through that unfortunate decision out of fear of ruining their friendship.

She takes a deep breath. “The long-story-short of it is, I’m done wasting time. And you?”

She searches his eyes, waiting for the words that could break her again or bring an end to her ponderings of “what if?”

He looks at her with that familiar analyzing, calculating expression, going through thousands of outcomes, conclusions. The good things, the bad, nearly every possible hypothesis and its end result. And he does all this knowing his feelings are requited.

His gaze flickers away, then meets hers again. “I…I almost missed my chance, and that is not something I want to do twice.”

She smiles, trying to ignore the tears forming in her eyes. It’s taken them over six years to get to this point, to hear the words spoken after the inciting incident during their first case together, and it’s a relief, a weight removed from her shoulders. For the first time in a long while, aside from the terror she knows exists in tomorrow, she feels light.

He leans forward and reaches to brush a strand of hair from her face, and she leans into his touch. She breathes in, content.

“Would you be okay if I kissed you?” he asks.

“Yes,” she replies.

They kiss, soft and slow, and she savors every moment of it. A brief pause for breath, she smiles, to find him smiling too.

Why did they wait so long for this?

She leans in and kisses him again, and feels the warmth spread within her. The fear of dying is gone; here, now, she is safe. She is alive and this moment is theirs.

And so her hands begin to wander, one brushing the back of his neck while the other travel over his chest to his shoulder. She notices how one of his hands brushes over her arm while the other rests just above her hip; there’s no hesitation on his part, his touches being soft, gentle, if not a bit cautious, a fear of one wrong move ending it all.

They shift around on the couch, her losing her faux leather jacket in the process as she goes to straddle him. The deeper they become, the higher she feels.

Then she stops. “When will Gavroche be home?”

“He’s going to have a late night at the lab; Combeferre wanted him and a few other interns go through some of the remains in Limbo and try to identify them,” he replies, looking rather hurt for the loss of closeness. “Why?”

“Because I have a feeling I know where this is going,” she says, pausing to kiss him. “And I’d rather not scar him.”

His face goes scarlet. “What evidence do you have to support that?”

“If the majority my past experience in similar scenarios is anything like this, then I believe we’d be better off continuing this in the bedroom.”

“Fair enough.”

It all happens in a blur. A passionate, intense blur, and she’s content.

Coming down from it all, bare limbs tangled beneath her bedsheets. The twilight brings darkness to parts of the room, but she still sees the warmth, the affection, in his eyes as he lays beside her, his fingers brushing her hair from her face.

In most instances, in this moment of reflection, she’d find herself regretting her actions. That she’d acted too hastily, had let the emotions take hold before providing the clarity to think.

For the first time, it feels perfect. She’s relaxed, the possibilities of tomorrow in the back of her mind. They’re here, together, and for her, that means everything.


End file.
